


A friend and more

by CaiusG



Series: Willard Trevelyan – The Accidental Chosen One [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 08:28:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18961573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaiusG/pseuds/CaiusG
Summary: Very WIP. Unfinished – rather an idea.





	A friend and more

**Author's Note:**

> Very WIP. Unfinished – rather an idea.

**9:29 – Ostwick, Circle of Magi**

_ "You never talked about him." _ – A tall elf stood in Willard’s door, arms folded over the breast and looked at him accusingly. Days passed since he returned from the confinement, and they barely spoke. He immediately knew that this was a bad question.

_ "About whom?" _ Willard didn’t look at him, was absently staring the floor.

_ "Don't play the ignorant!"  _ The elf snapped. Yes. Bad question… No matter. He had to continue what he started.  _ "About Brandt. You know, Hagen Brandt, the Templar… You and a Templar? And you didn't say a word?" _

Willard rose his head up.

_ "Why would I have spoken? Didn't they scorn me enough? Didn't they call me a hypocritical nobleman? 'Princeling', 'Pampered rebel'? Even without knowing, a Templar is my lover? Do you think I haven't heard?" _

_ "I’m Threnarel, not ‘they’. I’m your friend, remember?"  _ The elf sighed and continued bitterly. _ "I not even know, what I’m to you." _

_ "You’re jealous?" _ He tried to tease him jauntily, but that didn't really succeed. That faint smirk what appeared on his face was only the pale imitation of the old one. Those weeks didn’t fade yet. He still felt the cell’s coldness, the mouldy smell of the walls and heard the rats. He was not able to forget.  And yes. Hagen was gone. He didn't even know, what happened. Where is him? Willard didn't ask. How he could? From who?  _ Just a Templar, yes? Oh, yes… don't fool yourself! He's not "just a Templar" for a long time ago… And what does it change? He’s gone…  _ Willard shivered. Suddenly, for a moment, he felt the touch and scent of Hagen – but as it came, it vanished so fast. His hands closed into fists. _ Fuck… _

Threnarel noticed the changes in his friend’s face but didn't say a word.  _ Jealous… Oh, yes… bad question… Jealous? Never mind. _ Other times he would have reacted angrily, but not now. He sat down next to his friend. Friend? He felt he doesn’t even know him. But he knew Willard needs him. He felt his loneliness. Lonely – surrounded by people. Everyone knew well that feeling in the Tower. As apprentices, they shared their rooms, bath, and later sometimes their bed. But he loved that redhead. Stupid. He didn’t say a word about his love. Still, it hurts that he didn't tell him this... affair. With a Templar. He felt betrayed. And he knew he’s unjust. He knew the Circle. He was not sure, what he would do in a similar situation.

Finally he broke the silence.  _ "How long has it been since?"  _ He asked quietly.

_ "Long ago…",  _ Willard said and paused again.  _ Not long enough _ , he thought. It should never have happened. They both knew. Also, there is no future. They never talked about the tomorrow. They didn't plan and didn't think about it anything. They didn't talk about feelings, each other. If they tried sometimes, they dropped it quickly. It was easier that way. He never thought he had him. He never thought he could lose him. If he looked out the window of his chamber, he saw him. Everyday. Now he looks in vain through the window, he will not find him. _ A Templar. Just a Templar. _ He doesn’t mean anything to him. How many times did he say to himself this in the mouldy cell? And the first thing what he did: to go to his window. To see the blue sky, yes... 

_ "I'm sorry.  _ Threnarel saw the sadness in his eyes. Maybe it would be better to talk at other times …  _ I… it may better if I go now...", _ and stood up.

_ "I want to go from here!"  _

His voice stopped the elf. He sat back beside his friend.  _ "Who’s not?" _

_ "You do not understand. I'm drowning here." _

_ "I know..., we all know that feeling. Even that incense-smelling sanctimonious Loyalists as well! Once I heard Senior Enchanter Lydia complained about the claustrophobic feeling. Fucking hypocrite!" _

Willard’s face seemed to liven up a little.

Threnarel smiled – he was always able to bring his friend out of lethargy and seemed he still has this ability.

_ "That crow deserves it! She loves that place – so she should enjoy the 'benefits'! Such an ‘honourable’ wise woman  – with her ridiculous fake-Orlesian pronunciation – she reminds me of my mother, she never was satisfied our Marcher origin … she adored those ‘sophisticated’ Orlesian nobility – how she scolded me when I was not too enthusiastic to learn their stupid language and bloody history! Maker! I can’t bear my family! Lady Trevelyan was a terrible person and a terrible mother... and Lord Trevelyan… eh, doesn't worth to waste a word to him!"  _

_ Oh damn! The elf sighed. I’m a fool… thought it will be good  _ ... This topic has always worked when Willard was sad or just disappointed. He just wanted to see Willard live again. He could not bear his emotionless, empty eyes, to hear his listless, almost cold answers. Those weren't him.

Then Willard continued to speak.  _ "I'll go out of here."  _ He repeated it more firmly.  _ "You don't know what it was like there, but here much not better. I want to live, and this isn't life here!"  _ He snapped.

As looked at Willard, Threnarel calmed down a little. His friend’s nowadays pale face started to flush, and Will seemed, slowly to become the old, passionate himself again. 

_ "Until that… you could make this place more livable." _

_ "Livable? This? This is what everyone expects from me? How? With my fucking name? My non-existed wealth?"  _ Willard spoke angrily. _ "And what if my family buy some fancy brocade curtains because I ask for it – besides, that I would never ask...? Why? To cover the truth? The mouldy cell is reality. The rats and the dark loneliness. The Tranquils. You can cover the truth with brocade, but the loneliness still there. Behind the curtains, not the free air, but the thick, cold walls."  _

_ "I didn’t say that, and you know it. I just want… you need a goal… you need friends..." _

_ "I have a goal: to leave… Friends? Here? Everyone wants me to use my name. But I’ll not! I don’t have a name. Not anymore! I’m a mage! To make this place more livable just means acceptance. The acceptance is the death for me."  _ Willard turned to Threnarel and look deeply into his eyes –and for a moment, he astonished: never realized yet, how beautiful eyes Threnarel has, but didn’t let to distract himself by those deep green… fuck!– and continued: _ "You know, how many times tempted me? To be a ‘good’ guy, a happy nice apprentice? For a warm smile, a good word… But get used to this… is death." _


End file.
